city

 

the city does not end

on a night like this

stillness nibbles at the nippy stench

from men without tongues

inside of unmarked graves 

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and by all means

 

your bosom is my heaven and i remain your pilgrim

i falter deep in your long gloomy passage

i am aware of its persuasive enormity

i worship all the stretching hours fading there

because you have dark places in you

dragging me to the murky wetness of your body.

your night 

 

the night has a muffled sound

a sleeping shadow

it travels swiftly through vast planes

untouched ─

and through enormous hearts

of babies lying on crumpled pillows

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all men

 

i said to the barman wear me out

and give me another

the door creaked open as she finally walked in

right when my liver started to rot

her footsteps ground a shrill deep in my wallet

where i violate my gloom

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violent seed  

 

i am from a violent seed ─ a legacy of vulgarity

a suitcase packed with stones and bullets 

across the railway line things may seem different

but on tv and in the neighbourhood temper is boiling

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sunflower

 

an abrupt midget pees on a sunflower

shake his penis rigorously with a fat hand

turns his head from left to right

spats with a heavy thud on the wet ground 

the moon carries a doubtful glare

walks away like a man who wears the night

back yard melodies

 

they fill their entrances with drenched blades

flags waving like welcoming gaudy

the butcher boys are baking anxious melodies

with high pitched tones in the back yard

two hearts are suspended with an electric cord

from the porch ceiling ─ pumping and clogging

one belongs to an unknown animal and the other

to a newborn baby the size of a bullet hole

and so you say 

 

i masturbate in deserted cathedrals

to relieve my haunted hidden conscience

from the anxious eyes of the children

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master  

 

whiteness is always hiding

behind the dark, behind the death

do you want death?

do you want the shadow or do you want blacks?

no i dare not

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a man  

 

he brings heap of wrath with his heart             

his pockets cannot carry the clout from the metals he digs

below the bleating soil that suffer scarifications each dawn

he buries his bruises and beard there

every day ─

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unborn

 

i wake up inside your thick murky intestines

my eyes are struggling to open

your heartbeat is pounding on my brains

seeing and breathing your internal red smells

only when you utter vulgar words

the light flickers through your mouth

and i realise i am wrestling for life

a frightened fetus at the bottom of your gloom

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